


Good Ol' Desk

by punk_rock_yuppie



Category: Saturday Night Live RPF
Genre: Blowjobs, F/F, F/M, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Multi, Pining, References to Public Sex, Silly, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 21:31:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19385041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punk_rock_yuppie/pseuds/punk_rock_yuppie
Summary: Because of the cryptic nature of her words, realization dawns on Colin slowly, in pieces:One: “creative process” definitely meansfucking.Two: meaning Amy and Tina, and Amy and Seth, and apparently Seth and Bill gotcreativeon this set, thanks to the desk.Probably multiple times,Colin’s brain supplies unhelpfully.Or, there's justsomethingabout the Weekend Update desk.





	Good Ol' Desk

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is entirely the result of me binging SNL from season 30 onward and watching the various squads come and go through Weekend Update. this is just a very silly little thing that wouldn't leave me alone, and also serves as my foray into writing Seth/Bill, which owns my entire ass right now.
> 
> Big thanks to Hannah for beta'ing, as always!
> 
> Enjoy!

“There’s just something about this desk,” Seth says as he raps his knuckles twice on the desk. He smiles, seems to bite the inside of his cheek, uncaring for how he’s leaving Colin utterly bewildered. 

“Uh, care to explain?” Not only is Colin confused, he feels like he’s intruding on what should be a private moment.

Seth looks up at him, an odd glint in his eyes. It’s nothing Colin has ever seen the older man wear. Seth has almost always been a calm, cool, collected type. There’s a light in Seth’s eyes now that looks like mischief—which isn’t totally unheard of, this _is_ SNL after all—but it makes Colin feel...sort of _worried_.

“Nah,” Seth says eventually. “You’ll figure it out.”

 

 

And Colin does, but not through his own powers of deduction or a sudden epiphany. No, Colin finds out because of two precise things: copious amounts of alcohol, and Amy Poehler’s bright, loud voice. 

They’re lounging about the Weekend Update set, sloshed and exhausted after a long day of rehearsals and rewrites. Colin is comfortably shy of shit-faced and Amy’s cheeks are too red for her to be anything other than certifiably drunk. Par for the course, really: it’s been a fucking excellent week of writing and shooting and rehearsing, so that means it’s time to celebrate. 

Everything feels fuzzy but normal until Amy leans against the long Weekend Update desk and says, “This desk, man.”

“Okay, what’s with the desk?” Colin asks. His words sound slurred even to his own ears. “Seth looked like he was ready to take it with him when he left and it’s not even like, the original Update desk.”

Amy smiles at him. “It just inspires a certain sort of…” She trails off and taps her fingertips rhythmically against the surface. “Creative process,” she says finally. Her hand smooths over the desk and her expression gentles. “Me and Tina, Seth and I, I know for a fact Bill and Seth…”

Because of the cryptic nature of her words, realization dawns on Colin slowly, in pieces:

One: “creative process” definitely means _fucking_. 

Two: meaning Amy and Tina, and Amy and Seth, and apparently Seth and Bill got _creative_ on this set, thanks to the desk. _Probably multiple times,_ Colin’s brain supplies unhelpfully. 

Colin’s stuck between mild arousal, awe, and the urge to grab a bottle of disinfectant. He says, “Prolific,” instead, and Amy’s bright laughter carries them back to the heart of the rest of the crew, at a different part of the stage, just as drunk.

After that night, Colin tries very hard not to think about the revelation. It’s not like this impacts him at all: he’s not the kind for workplace trysts, and certainly not ones _on set_. At the very least he’d save it for a dressing room.

Still, the thought plagues him at the strangest times, and he dedicates maybe more time than is strictly healthy to thinking about it. Often, he considers calling Seth or Bill or Amy to see if they can explain it to him, preferably sober. 

Like, is it _just_ a coworker thing? The byproduct of being in an enclosed set cracking witty jokes back and forth every week? (He thinks not, because if that were the case, probably everyone in the cast would be banging each other constantly, and he’s reasonably sure that’s not happening.)

Or is it the power of the segment itself— _good lord, does Chevy know?—_ that makes people want to get it on? Something about firing off snappy jokes about the news is just _sexy?_

The more he thinks about it, the less Colin thinks he wants to know.

When he joins Update with Cecily, he’s _terrified_. Not only to be placed in a much more starring role than he’s had before, but because of _the desk_. Fuck Seth Meyers, honestly. _And_ Amy Poehler. But not literally, of course. God no.  

Colin spends several weeks before joining Update and during the season fretting over potentially wanting to bang Cecily. It’s not that Cecily is unattractive, hardly; she’s fucking gorgeous. It’s equal parts fear of the unknown, even if the “unknown” is some weird sex curse-slash-blessing on the Weekend Update set, and the knowledge that workplace affairs rarely end well. They only spell trouble, which Colin would like to avoid at all costs. Nevermind the fact that he’s seen a handful of workplace relationships go well—all he can think of are all the ways that sort of thing can go wrong.

To his immense relief, at no point does he feel the overwhelming urge to seduce (or be seduced by) Cecily, and then her time co-hosting ends. Che takes her place, and at first Colin doesn’t even think to be worried about wanting to fuck the other man. 

Let it be known that Colin and Che have known each other for years. They’re about as far from strangers as two people can really be in this day and age. Colin would even call Che his _best friend_ most of the time, and he knows the other man feels the same way. They go out and drink and binge stupid television shows and report on the stupider news and things are good, great, _almost perfect_.

The urge to sleep with Che, when it rolls around sluggishly, is alarming to say the least. 

The thought hits Colin during a table read one day. It’s more of him and Che halfheartedly quipping their way through the planned jokes, each of them marking up their notes in red pen for things to change or just totally remove. They’re not even on the Update set; the _desk_ is nowhere in sight. They’re in a boardroom with several other cast members and the thought hits Colin like a sucker punch to the stomach.

The image is first, conjured up in his mind out of nowhere: him and Che kissing, the gentle blue background of the Weekend Update set behind them. Then it’s spiraling thoughts: over, under, anywhere remotely near the desk, Colin’s pants down or Che on his knees or lube-sticky fingers and come dripping onto the floor behind the desk and—

“Jost, you with me?” Che snaps. He’s across the table, staring unimpressed at Colin. “Lookin’ like you’re on another planet, man.”

Colin licks his dry lips and tries to get his limp tongue to function. “Just tired,” he says, to a chorus of groans from their coworkers. They’re _all_ tired, all the time, that’s nothing new. “Sorry, where were we?”

 

 

Colin tries to put this from his mind too, but he finds out pretty quickly that he can’t. He’s thinking about it almost constantly. Thinking about things like licking along the length of Che’s neck or Che’s hand knotting in his hair and mussing up his gelled-do. Things like slipping under the Update desk while Che’s in the middle of delivering some stupid joke, or Che bending Colin over the desk on live television.

It absolutely _consumes_ Colin’s thoughts, to the point that he has to learn how to juggle both the wildly inappropriate thoughts _and_ his regular life. He puts them in two particular boxes in his mind, and does his absolute best to keep the sexy from interfering with the non-sexy. It’s not easy, and actually makes his life approximately ten million times harder—and not even in a _good_ way—but it’s better than the alternative. 

 

 

Okay, so maybe he calls up Seth Meyers, three years into hosting Weekend Update with Che. Maybe Colin is drunk when he does it and maybe his nose is still full of the scent of Che’s cologne from earlier, when they were pressed close together at the bar. 

_“Colin?”_ Seth asks. He sounds breathless. 

Colin casts a quick glance at the time and decides it’s not so late as to be rude. “You’re a dick.”

A laugh, echoed. _“What?”_ Seth asks. _“Bill, Bill, hang on.”_

“Bill’s there? Put him on?”

_“I don’t—okay, alright, yeah.”_ There’s some rustling, the sound of buttons on the phone being pressed, before heavy breathing fills the line.

“Bill?”

_“What’s up, Colin? We’re kind of busy.”_

Colin blinks. “Did I interrupt you guys fucking?” Then, “Who answers their phone in the middle of sex? Seth?”

Bill’s laughing that bright, pitchy laugh, the one where it sounds like he almost can’t breathe. The sound warms Colin inside and out, aided by the alcohol buzzing in his veins. _“No,”_ he says. _“We were just getting started.”_

Somewhere in the background, it sounds like Seth crows, _“Don’t tell him that!”_

“Well, fuck you too. You’re a dick.”

Bill snickers. _“Why are we dicks?”_

“The desk!” Colin half-shouts. “Seth mentioned the stupid desk, and then Amy mentioned the desk, and now all I can think about is _Che_ and the _fucking desk_!” 

Silence meets his outburst, and Colin promptly hangs up, throws his phone to the other end of the couch, and makes a beeline for his room. 

 

He wakes up to three voicemails of Bill and Seth explaining, as best they can, about the desk. It becomes clear around the two-minute mark of the first message that the other men are also buzzed, which explains Bill’s shamelessness that Colin, had he been sober, would’ve found strange. They interrupt each other, both with words and to kiss, sloppily, noisily, _right in Colin’s ear, thanks guys_. 

By the end of the three messages, Colin feels like he both understands better and worse. 

He fires off a quick text thanking Seth and telling him to fuck off again, and gets a simple thumbs up emoji in response.

 

 

“So, there’s this thing,” Colin says. _This is a terrible idea_ , he thinks to himself before continuing. “Seth told me about it.”

“Uh huh,” Che drawls. It’s that voice he uses to let Colin know he’s listening, but he doesn’t particularly care what comes out of Colin’s mouth. Perfect.

“Amy mentioned it too. And Bill confirmed it.”

“Yeah?” Che takes a noisy swig of his beer and scrolls on his phone—Colin knows this because instead of shutting the fuck up or drinking his own beer, he watches Che. Intently. _Intensely_.

“They keep saying there’s this thing about the Weekend Update desk.” Well, “keep saying” is being generous. More like Seth and Amy mentioned it the one time, and Colin can’t let it go, and keeps bringing it up, to the point that Bill’s ears go red whenever he sees Colin. He never knew Seth would be so forthcoming or brazen, and he’s not sure Bill appreciates it.

“Fascinating.” 

Emboldened and feeling a little spiteful—they’re chilling in Che’s apartment, Colin is a guest, it’s polite to listen to your guests, even when they’ve been your friend for years and you give each other shit constantly—Colin carries on. “The thing with the desk,” he reiterates. “Like, the desk makes them want to... _get creative_.”

Che ‘ah’s quietly, never once looking up from his phone. “Interesting.”

“I’m pretty sure Seth and Bill got together because of the desk. And Amy mentioned something about her and Tina.” 

Of course _that_ is what gets Che’s attention. “Amy and Tina what now?” 

Colin rolls his eyes. “ _Got creative,_ ” Colin says again. His cheeks are burning. He feels like a twerp who can’t even say _having sex_. He knows full well it’s not a great look on him. 

Che finally sets his phone aside, takes another slurping sip of his beer, and sits up a little straighter. “You don’t have details, do you?”

“About Amy and Tina? No. Bill and Seth? More details than I’d care to admit.”

Instead of recoiling with disinterest or scoffing, Che raises an eyebrow. “Really now?”

“Seth Meyers is a chatty drunk. Not even the strength of Bill’s anxiety can stop him.”

Che laughs. “C’mon, let’s hear it then. How did the Update desk make them _creative_?” Che is clearly throwing Colin’s words back at him, but Colin is more distracted by—

“You were actually listening?”

“Mostly. The rest is context clues. C’mon man, keep up.”

Colin blinks. “Uh. I mean, just. One time after a show Seth and Bill snuck over to the Weekend Update set and. Uh.”

“Fucked. Banged. Boned down. _Made love_. Take your fucking pick, Jost.”

“They fucked on the desk! And under it, apparently! Numerous times!” Colin’s fingers are white-knuckled around the neck of his beer bottle and his hand shakes as he lifts it to his lips for a long, unsatisfying pull. “Seth said it’s all because of the desk. Him and Amy apparently…”

“That’s no surprise,” Che says dismissively. “Why you bringing it up? Too great a secret to bear alone? Even though pretty much everyone in the cast almost definitely knows about all this banging?”

It’s a decent enough out; it would make him look stupid and naive, but Colin could take it and suffer the teasing. It would keep his dignity mostly intact. Che’s lips are tilted in a smirk and he looks expectant, eager for Colin’s answer.

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” Colin says slowly. He focuses hard on his words, though he’s realizing he’s not nearly as drunk as he wishes he was. “About us.”

“And the desk,” Che clarifies, although it’s not a question.

“And the desk,” Colin confirms. 

“Thank fuck,” Che says before setting his bottle aside. “It may not be the desk but I’m more than happy to give you a taste right now and fuck you here in my living room.”

Colin’s brain stops. Complete shutdown. He’s blinking and breathing and his blood is pumping but his thoughts are at a total standstill. “What?” He croaks eventually.

Che’s smirk widens. He stands and practically saunters his way from the recliner to the couch. He slides almost gracefully into Colin’s lap. “The shit about the desk is news to me, never heard that one before. The desk has nothing to do with me wanting to get with you, Colin.”

Colin swallows. “Michael,” he says, slow and careful. Che plucks the beer bottle from his hands and sets it on the table beside the couch. It leaves Colin’s hands free to find Che’s hips. “You’re serious?”

Che grins now, the smirk melting to reveal warmth and a toothy expression. “Yeah, man. What, did you think the desk was why _you_ wanted this? You do realize our chemistry is off the charts, right? People write about it online and shit.”

“You’re looking up what people write about us?” Colin replies inanely.

Che rolls his eyes this time, shakes his head fondly. “You’re so fucking stupid, Jost, Christ.” 

And then Che’s kissing him. It tastes like the day-old takeout they had for a late dinner and like the icy bitter beers they’ve been downing all night. It tastes like something uniquely Che, and like spit and slick and heat and _fuck_. Colin groans and tightens his hold on Che’s hips, relishing the warm skin under his palms. 

“That’s it,” Che murmurs. He kisses the corner of Colin’s mouth before kissing him properly, deepening it immediately. Colin melts into the couch and lets Che take the reins. Che guides him through heavy, wet kisses, ones that steal his breath and leave his brain foggier than any alcohol ever could. 

“I lied,” Che says a little while later, when both their mouths are kiss-swollen and their dicks are threatening to bust the zippers on their jeans.

It takes Colin a few moments for the words to catch up with his brain. “You lied?”

Che nods. “As much as I would not be opposed to dry humping like a couple of teenagers here on my very nice couch, I’d rather take you to bed.” 

A shiver runs through Colin and he almost makes to stand, except that Che’s weight practically pins him to the couch. Che laughs at his aborted attempt to get to his feet, and laughs and laughs until Colin has no choice but to haul the other man close by the hips and let their cocks grind together.

“Ahh, shit, Colin,” Che groans. Pride burns in Colin’s chest. “C’mon, let me up, wanna get you naked.” 

Colin groans softly. “Dunno if I can walk,” he admits. His cock throbs, almost painful for how hard he is. “Just right here, yeah? C’mon.” Colin slips a hand from Che’s hip to the front of his jeans and makes quick work of his button and zipper.

Che doesn’t object; he sits up straighter, pushes his hips forward, and shudders when Colin’s fingers curl around his cock. “Fuck, Colin, _yes_.”

“Been thinking about this for years,” Colin admits as he watches the slick dark head of Che’s prick appear and disappear with Colin’s strokes. It’s a tantalizing sight, better than any porn and it’s _real_ , it’s all for Colin, he can just _do this_ now. “Che,” he moans, voice warbling.

“You’re so fucking stupid,” Che says, sounding unbearably fond. “I’m gonna come.”

Colin’s laugh catches in his throat as Che grinds down against him; Colin’s cock twitches in his own jeans and he’s torn between the urge to flip them over and press Che into the couch, or to finally try and make it to Che’s bedroom, or to get on his knees for Che. His brain is too foggy for any of those things so he just tightens his grip instead. He gathers precome in his palm to slick the way and watches, mesmerized, as Che fucks into the tight circle of his fist. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Che pants. He hisses out Colin’s name, a soft “ah, ahh, _ah_ ,” and Colin realizes he’s fast becoming addicted to these noises. He strokes faster, tighter, twists his wrist just under the head and thumbs over the leaking slit. 

Che mouths along Colin’s jaw clumsily, muttering and moaning nonsense before suddenly he goes tense in Colin’s arms. Wet heat splatters over Colin’s fingers and their jeans and shirts and Colin’s mouth goes dry at the sight, tongue lolling against his bottom lip.

“Jesus,” Che whispers. 

“It’s Colin,” he replies, because he can’t resist.

“Just for that, I ain’t jerking you off tonight.”

Colin’s about to protest—his dick is hard enough to cut glass, he’s sure of it—when Che slips out of his lap and his knees hit the carpet. Colin blinks, awestruck at the sight of Michael Che between his knees, fumbling for the button and zipper of Colin’s jeans. 

“You have got to stop wearing such tight pants,” Che says before stroking his hand once over Colin’s cock. It’s a brief burst of electric, perfect friction before all Colin knows is wet heat swallowing him down. Che moans as Colin’s cock slides between his lips and the vibrations go straight to Colin’s core. 

Colin’s head tips back and for a few long moments he stares at Che’s popcorn ceiling before his attention is forcibly dragged back to Che and his clever tongue doing something against the underside of Colin’s dick. Che’s eyes are open and focused on Colin and there’s no way he can look away. 

Colin moans and scrapes his nails over Che’s scalp, relishing the way the other man’s eyes flutter. “Gonna come,” Colin says. His voice shakes.

Che doesn’t pull off to give some witty comeback, for which Colin is thankful, and instead redoubles his efforts. Che sucks him harder, drool spilling down onto Colin’s sac, and his hands grip Colin’s knees tight enough to bruise. 

Che lets out another moan, one he probably doesn’t even realize he’s making, and Colin’s done for. He can’t stop the jerk of his hips as he thrusts forward and forces his cock deeper into Che’s mouth—not that Che reacts, other than to whine and swallow and work Colin through the aftershocks. 

Che climbs back into his lap when Colin’s shivering with oversensitivity, mindful of Colin’s softening cock. “Cannot believe,” Che says, voice a wrecked rasp, “You thought some fucking desk was the reason you wanted a piece of this.”

“Blame Seth,” Colin says. When Che’s smirk doesn’t fade, Colin adds, “Fuck off.”

Che grins and kisses him again. 

 

 

“You were right,” Colin says. Amy’s just finished hosting and she, Seth, Bill, and Colin are all gathered in a corner somewhat away from the madness of the afterparty.

“Which one of us?” Seth asks.

“About what?” Bill adds. 

“The desk,” Colin replies. He takes a long drink of his too-strong drink and buries his grimace in a grin. “It does have a sort of pull.”

Amy snorts and covers her mouth, while Bill’s face and ears go red and even Seth looks a little flustered. 

“Really?” Amy asks. “It got you too?”

Colin opens his mouth to share all the dirty details—given how much he’s heard of their desk-related sex lives by now, it only seems fair—when a warm arm settles along his shoulders.

“If you’re talking about that god damn desk again,” Che says, low but loud enough for Amy, Seth, and Bill to hear. “I won’t fuck you over it tonight.”

Colin’s mouth shuts with a sharp snap. 

Che’s grin is all teeth and smarmy, but the kiss he presses to Colin’s temple is sweet and soft. “C’mon, let’s get this over with.”

“Don’t sound so excited,” Colin says even as he lets Che lead him further away from the afterparty.

Behind them, Amy wolf-whistles, Seth sounds choked up by his own surprised laughter, and Bill is wheezing with awkward, stricken laughter. _Serves them right_ , Colin thinks. 

And, as Che leads him onto the Weekend Update set and a flash of warmth floods Colin’s body, he thinks, even knowing Che would give him so much shit for it—

_There’s something about this desk._


End file.
